


When I'm Homeward Bound Again

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: Little House on the Prairie - Laura Ingalls Wilder, Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Prairie AU, deancastropefest5k, little town on the prairie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 02:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10526724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: The country stretched out in front of them, dizzying Dean with its endless possibilities. Sometimes his elation turned the corner into panic and Castiel would lean his knee against Dean’s as the train swayed and bumped until his breathing evened out again.





	

 

_De Smet, Dakota Territory  1882_

“May I see you home?”

In the din of the noisy schoolhouse, it wasn’t until Laura heard his voice that she noticed the hand on her sleeve. She looked from the hand to the face to see that it was Dean Winchester. As she stood dumbly trying to comprehend his question, the crowd leaving the Revival meeting swelled and moved them both toward the door. With his hand still on her arm, he guided her through the swarm, away from the people and the eyes that seemed always to be looking at her.

Outside, she caught sight of Pa and Ma and the little girls. They’d been separated by the throng  and now Ma turned back to find Laura. Her eyes flew wide when she saw Dean at Laura’s side. Pa gave them both a long look over his shoulder, then steered Ma forward again. Laura watched with trepidation as they continued ahead.

Laura knew of Dean Winchester, of course. He and his brother were baching in town, living a few blocks from Main Street. They’d come from back East last fall and Dean, the older brother, had quickly been taken on at the blacksmith. Truthfully, before Laura had become familiar with Mr. Winchester himself, she had been aware of his presence in town in the form of a fine pair of horses pulling a sleek buggy that rolled along without a squeak or a rattle, perfectly polished and gleaming black.

Their breath made smoky puffs as they walked along in silence under the waxing half-moon. Laura searched her mind for something to say but Dean seemed content merely to walk beside her. Laura wondered if maybe he meant to talk to Pa? After all, he was a bit older than she was. Surely he was just being polite as they all left the church and hadn’t meant to be left behind with her. That realization gave her the push she needed to remember her manners.

“Did you enjoy the service?” she asked, pleased that she’d thought of something to break the endless squeak and crunch of their shoes on the snow-covered walk.

Dean shrugged. “Not really my thing. But my brother wanted to come.”

By now they’d approached Laura’s house, already glowing with lantern light. Laura was torn between wanting to run the last few steps to be safely inside and feeling grown up by walking alone with a man who wasn’t Pa. Dean escorted her all the way to the door and, just as Laura was about to offer to get Pa, he tipped his cap to her.

“Well, goodnight.”

With one hand on the doorknob, Laura debated if it was proper to thank him. “Good night,” she finally answered.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he promised before walking away.

Inside, the house seemed particularly warm and cozy, filled with the people who were so dear to her. Pa and Ma were deep in a conversation that cut off abruptly when she entered. Ma smiled at her, but her smile was tight. Pa looked at her with his blue eyes wide, as if there were a question she was meant to answer. Laura didn’t know what to say, so she busied herself with unbuttoning her coat and taking off her brown velvet hat. She said her good nights and climbed upstairs, wishing that Mary weren’t so far away in Iowa.

*

The next evening, Laura sat preoccupied throughout Reverend Brown’s singing and preaching and roaring. She sat on the hard, wooden bench between Carrie and Ma trying to look as if she were paying full attention. Towards the end of the service, when Pa indicated that it was time to leave, her heart skipped a beat as they walked in single file up the aisle to the back of the church. Just as the night before, every seat was taken and a line of young men stood in the back. As Laura approached, Dean Winchester stepped forward.

“May I see you home?”

This time she knew enough to smile and accept the offer politely. Even in that room filled with watching eyes, she felt one set in particular on her and looked past Dean to see his brother staring at her. Her smile faltered as she met his brilliant blue eyes. He looked at her with a mixture of surprise and disdain, scowling as if he were angry, but Dean quickly took her arm and led her out again.

“I believe your brother must not approve of your choice in walking companion,” she blurted once they reached the chill of the night air, still feeling the weight of his stare still upon her.

At that, Dean laughed. “Castiel doesn’t take too well to new people. He takes some getting to know.”

Laura considered that for a moment. “Perhaps I’ll have the opportunity.”

Dean smiled at her, a crinkle-eyed grin that made her smile back. “Perhaps.”

The walk seemed shorter this evening, and they were still speaking lightly on subjects as varied as the weather _and_ the temperature by the time they arrived at Laura’s door.

“Until next time,” Dean said, and took his leave.

In the house, Ma’s smile was nearly genuine. “He seems a nice young man,” she ventured, watching Laura for her agreement. “Certainly friendlier than that brother of his,” she added when Laura nodded.

“Castiel is a strange sort,” Pa added. “I don’t think he likes living in town.”

“If that made one strange, we should both be considered so,” Laura reminded him and Pa’s eyes twinkled.

“Right you are, Half-pint.” He stopped and thought. “Can I still call you Half-pint if you’re courting?”

Laura felt a blush creep to her hairline and she excused herself. “Goodnight.”

*

Dean walked the final block home with his hands shoved in his pockets for warmth. He could see the single lantern lit in the window of his own house, the last one on the last settled street. The house faced west, keeping its watchful front window on all the comings and goings in De Smet. As he neared the door, he saw Cas waiting by the window, even though Dean knew it was cold that far from the stove.

He had barely stamped the snow from his boots when Cas pulled him inside, yanking him to the corner out of view of the window. Cas pushed him up against the wall and kissed him, hard and possessive. Dean’s nose and ears were chilled from the winter air and Cas’s mouth was hot as fire against his skin.

“Miss me?” he asked when Cas gave him room to breathe.

“I don’t like this,” Cas said.

Dean smoothed Cas’s hair in an attempt to comfort him. “I know. Neither do I. But we talked about this and it’s not like we have much choice.”

Cas stepped forward again but this time he merely hugged Dean to him. “I don’t have to like it.”

Dean kissed him gently on the temple. “I’m doing this for us.”

Sighing, Cas nodded his understanding. “Can we go to bed now?”

Dean laughed. “Can a fellow take his coat off first?”

Dean’s smile faltered a little when Cas turned to walk to the bedroom. He didn’t know any other way to do this, any other way they could be together. It would be one thing if they lived out on the prairie miles from anyone else. It would be different if they could see any visitor approaching, watching as a dark speck in the distance turned into a man on horseback or a clattering covered wagon. But, for now, they lived in town trying to scrape by while not arousing suspicions.

Their unused second bedroom, like their attendance at the Revival meetings, was for appearance’s sake. For the most part, the town folk seemed to accept them and their story of being brothers but now and then Dean felt one of them looking at him a little too long. Like Charles Ingalls for example. He was a pleasant man, friendly and outgoing. He was a leader in the small town, someone whose opinion people would take to heart. It would look strange if neither of them courted any of the young ladies in town and, since they both agreed it was a better job for Dean, it just made sense that he would start with Ingalls’s daughter.

Checking that the front door was securely latched, Dean followed Cas into their bedroom.

*

The next night Dean waited again to walk Laura home. This time her mother nodded almost pleasantly at him and Dean smiled to himself. As soon as they were outside, Laura, who seemed to grow more sociable each night, politely inquired as to what had brought them to Dakota.

“My brother was attending divinity school in New York but he decided that life wasn’t for him. We decided to come West and start fresh.” All of that was the truth, no matter how abridged.

“Castiel was going to be a priest?”

“He was.”

“And you?”

“I never aspired to anything that fancy. I’m happy to work with my hands.”

“You two don’t look much alike,” Laura observed with a keen look in her eye that put Dean on his guard. Before he could moderate and qualify them as being half-brothers, she continued. “But neither do my sister and I. She’s blonde and blue-eyed and I’m…” She gestured at her own dark hair and eyes.

Dean tried not to let the relief show on his face. “Family is funny that way,” he agreed.

*

Dean had never intended to work at St. Andrew’s. But with his mother dead and his father lost to the bottle, it was up to him to make sure there was a roof over their heads and food on the table for Sam. He’d worked when John hadn’t, scraping together a little schooling when he could. When John had finally joined Mary, his journey ending with a gravestone next to hers, Dean had to take on the full share of providing for what was left of his family. When he found a live-in caretaker’s position at the newly opened seminary, he and Sam moved onto the school grounds.

The work wasn’t difficult and, for the most part, the staff and students looked through him as he went about his day. He did his best to stay in the background like the wooden desks he polished to a shine or the floors he swept clean. Compared to the students who had decided to turn their lives over to God, he was too coarse, too uneducated. Worst of all, he felt urges that made him too unclean even to stand in those hallowed spaces.

Even though God had never once granted any of his prayers, now and then he sat in the small chapel watching sunlight glow through stained glass. When he found Castiel there one golden late autumn day, head bowed in prayer, he wasn’t sure if his presence was a divine test or a revelation.

He’d looked up at the creak of the door and Dean had cursed himself for not having greased the hinge. Their eyes met for a long, searing moment before he got to his feet, pushing past Dean in the doorway. Dean stood frozen, his shoulder tingling from Castiel’s touch.

He knew who Castiel was. He was a first-year student and, although Dean couldn’t put his finger on why, he looked as out of place there as Dean felt. He was one of the only people there who seemed truly to see Dean. Most every day, Dean looked up from his work to find Castiel staring at him with probing blue eyes that seemed to know his secret.

In response, Dean applied himself more diligently to his work. Sam was away at school and Dean knew he needed to keep his head down and save his wages to make sure Sam had what he needed to fit in with the other students. Although the seminary had offered Sam a scholarship, he had his sights set on law and had been accepted at Columbia College. Dean had never been so proud nor so heartbroken as the day he took him to the station in Ithaca to catch the train to New York City.

Castiel proved to be more of a distraction than he had counted on.

The staring had evolved into rushed and hushed conversations in hallways and empty classrooms. Dean had tried to resist but it all came to a head when Castiel sought him out one dreary January evening in the carriage house. Dean wanted to rage at him and tell him to go; instead he found himself tangled up with Castiel on the clean hay-covered floor of an empty stall, his skin buzzing like the electric telegraph machine in the headmaster’s office.

Dean never initiated their times together. He knew better, he knew his place. He was here to clean and to fix, to provide a place where these men of learning could become closer to God. But he easily memorized Castiel's routine and arranged his own accordingly. They found themselves together in any place they could spare a moment of privacy, even once daring a rendezvous in the tidy, austere bedroom Castiel shared with another student.

To Dean it felt wrong to do such things in an actual bed. It merely emphasized how sinful it was, what a mockery of God’s intention. The softness of a pallet, the warmth of a blanket, these were not comforts they deserved.

Dean knew it couldn’t last. Castiel would remember himself and his commitments. He would cast Dean aside and continue on his path, his devotion to his calling fueled by his shame. Even knowing the inevitability of their parting, Dean couldn’t find the strength to turn him away.

Sure enough, one late summer day Castiel came to him with his jaw set tight and his hands clenched into fists. Instead of reaching for Dean as he always did, he stood with his eyes downcast. Bracing himself, Dean wiped the axle grease from his hands and tried to breathe.

When Castiel finally looked at him, his eyes shone with tears. Dean twisted the rag in his hands to keep from touching him. “I can’t continue this way,” Castiel said slowly.

“You don’t have to explain,” Dean said. “Just go. I’ll not speak of this.”

But Castiel didn’t leave. He reached for Dean, fitting his hand to his shoulder when Dean tried to turn away. In a rough voice, he made his confession. “I can't lie to myself or to God any longer. I came here to find my purpose through books and prayer, but instead I found it in your arms.”

They left together a week later. It crushed Dean to leave his brother behind, but he sent Sam as much money as he could spare and a letter explaining he was heading west to seek his fortune. He didn’t mention Castiel; the last thing Sam and his bright future needed was the whisper of scandal attached to his name.

Dean packed what he could carry and spent the longest nine minutes of his life waiting for Castiel to join him at their arranged meeting place near the train station. On board, they sat on plush seats, stunned into silence, in disbelief of what they’d done. Day after day they sat side by side as the train steamed west to Buffalo then began the swing around the Great Lakes, passing through Cleveland and Toledo. They sat together, speaking softly, as the countryside flattened outside the glass windows of the rail car. The country stretched out in front of them, dizzying Dean with its endless possibilities. Sometimes his elation turned the corner into panic and Castiel would lean his knee against Dean’s as the train swayed and bumped until his breathing evened out again.

Other passengers made pleasant conversation and Dean told whoever asked that they were making a trip west to visit relatives. He had vague knowledge of an old family friend he and Sam had called Uncle living in Dakota Territory so when the main line ran out in Minneapolis, they conferred and bought tickets south toward Waseca.

With no real plan, they finally alighted from the train just over the Dakota line in Brookings. Tight on money, they considered their options. Dean knew he could win them some by playing cards, but they were hesitant to risk trouble by bringing too much attention to themselves. It hadn’t come to that because they’d lucked into the buggy nearly as soon as they left the train station. A man who’d been beaten by the country was heading back East and sold it and the horses to them for a song. Dean smiled as Cas climbed onto the narrow seat beside him. “Let’s see where she takes us.”

They landed in De Smet in late October. Despite his failings, John had trained Dean in all manner of work and he was hired on to help at the blacksmith. Cas’s options were more limited. The town already had a schoolteacher in place but De Smet was growing and, while he wasn’t experienced, a pair of hands was a pair of hands and he found work helping to construct new buildings for the expanding town. His fine suits gave way to coarse work clothes and he came home smelling of sawdust, his hands cut and blistered. Even though Cas claimed he felt good at doing an honest day’s work, seeing him like that twisted a knife in Dean’s gut and he begged Cas’s forgiveness for dragging him out of those lofty halls and down into the mud. In response, Cas had taken Dean’s face firmly in his calloused hands and explained that he didn’t mourn a God who would turn his back just when he had found his greatest joy.

*

It shouldn’t have surprised him when Charles Ingalls showed up at the house unannounced. Dean was pitching hay into the stalls when he heard the call of his name. Straightening up, he walked to the open stable door. “Hello, Ingalls.”

“Hello, Winchester. I’ve got a broken door hinge and I thought I’d see if you had time to tend to it.” Dean noticed he hadn’t brought it with him.  

With one last glance to be sure all was set for the horses, Dean replaced the pitchfork and stepped out of the stable, securing the door behind him. “If you bring it round the shop tomorrow, I can get it fixed up for you.”

Ingalls nodded and adjusted his hat. “I’ll do that.” Dean waited for what came next. “Long as I’m here, do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

Dean did his best to smile. “Of course.”

He led Ingalls inside, grateful that a couple of brothers baching it weren’t expected to keep a spotless home. Both bedroom doors were closed, as they always were for just this occasion. Dean wiped some toast crumbs off the table and invited Ingalls to sit as he put the coffee pot on the stove. Instead of sitting, Ingalls wandered casually around their main room with his hands clasped behind his back. “Didn’t bring much with you?” he asked, but it sounded more like a statement.

“No, sir. We figured it was best to travel light.” Dean kept one eye on Ingalls as he wiped out a pair of cups. It was an innocent observation and Dean stopped himself from providing too much explanation. Ingalls wandered toward the two bedroom doors, stopping to examine the contents of the shelf on the wall between them. He picked up a book and flipped through the pages.

“Wouldn’t take you for the poetry reading sort.”

Dean managed a laugh at that. “No, sir. That would be my brother. Coffee’s ready,” he added quickly and relaxed a little as the man abandoned his roaming to join him at the table.

Once he sat, Ingalls addressed the matter at hand. “Seeing as you are courting my daughter, I thought it would be best if we spoke man to man.”

“I understand.” Ingalls continued to peer at him so Dean elaborated. “She’s a bright young woman and I’ve enjoyed speaking with her.”

“That she is,” Ingalls said and his face softened a little. “I hope you realize she’s not the type of girl to have her head turned by a charming fellow and a shiny buggy.”

Dean took a drink to hide his smile. Maybe not the buggy, but he’d seen the way Laura looked at his horses. “I’m not trying to turn her head. I’m only hoping to get to know her better.”

Ingalls opened his mouth to respond but they were both distracted by Castiel coming in through the front door. He stopped short when he saw the guest, his eyes instinctively darting over to assure the status of the bedroom doors. Dean held his breath, but it didn’t appear Ingalls noticed.

“Evening, Castiel.”

“Hello, Mr. Ingalls.”

Ingalls drank down the rest of the coffee before pushing back his chair. “Thank you for the coffee, son. I won’t keep you boys from your supper. I’ll come by the shop tomorrow morning.”

Dean saw him to the door, shaking his hand goodbye. Castiel quietly cleared the table.

*

Vivid memories of the hard winter the year before had driven most people to settle into town shortly after the first frost. Dean heard stories of snow piled up past roof tops and families nearly starving when the train couldn’t get through, but it was hard to reconcile that with the way each new snowfall melted under the milder temperatures of this winter.

While the other young men in town lamented the lack of sleigh rides, Dean was happy to keep his buggy hitched up. One Saturday afternoon not long after her father’s visit, he swung the team over to Laura’s house to see if she would join him for a buggy ride.

Holding the reins in one hand, he helped her in with the other. She smiled at him and smoothed the blanket over her skirt, careful to tuck in the edges to keep it from flapping and startling the team. Her two younger sisters were watching through the front window and when Dean lifted a hand in greeting to them, they giggled and hid from sight.

He turned the buggy south from town and they meandered slowly out toward Big Slough. The sky was grey but it was a soft overcast of clouds that spoke of rain and not the dark, wild edge of a storm. The way was slightly muddy and Dean kept one eye on the deeper ruts in the road.

They spoke easily of the weather and of happenings in town. He asked about her sisters and she told him of some of their antics, particularly Grace, the baby of the family.

“It’s nice to be the oldest,” he observed.

“Oh, I’m not the oldest,” she corrected. “My older sister Mary is away at college in Iowa.”

Dean listened as she told him of the school for the blind in Vinton and of the things Mary was learning to do there. She spoke with great pride but Dean sensed how much she missed her sister. It left his own heart clenching and he couldn’t stop himself. “My brother is in college too, back in New York. Sammy wants to study law. He’s the smart one in the family.”

Laura looked at him in confusion. “Didn’t you say Castiel went to divinity school?”

“Yes, of course,” Dean said, trying to slow his thumping pulse. “But…he didn’t finish.”

Laura nodded her agreement, but Dean was sure he could see the doubt in her eyes. Suddenly he wanted nothing more to be back with Cas, safe from the world’s prying eyes. An awkward silence stretched between them, the quiet pressing in on him from all sides. “Looks like rain,” he finally said, even though nothing more than a fine mist was filling the air. “Reckon we ought to head back.”

*

The house beckoned him, filled with lantern light, but Dean drove past it to the stable where he unhitched and cared for the horses. After that, he worked on the buggy, wiping off all traces of splattered mud. By the time he got inside, the sun was fully down and Cas had supper simmering on the cook stove. He also had the wash tub in from the lean-to and the big kettle of water heating.

Cas had been melancholy about Dean taking Laura out this afternoon, and it was clear that the food and the bath were peace offerings. Dean accepted them both with silent gratitude. They sat at the table, their spoons clinking against their bowls as the ate the good, hot stew. Cas added one last kettle of water to the tub and nodded at Dean who bathed quickly while Cas cleaned up. While he dried off and dressed, Cas tossed out the cold water and began to fill it again for himself. Once Cas was settled in the water, Dean pulled a chair up beside the tub and took the wash rag and the slippery lye soap from his hands. He ran the rag over Cas’s shoulders, nudging him forward so he could wash his back as well. He’d grown lean and strong from working in town, all softness replaced by sharp edges and firm muscle. The tub sat in front of the open stove, but the house was chilly so Dean worked quickly to wet Cas’s hair before the water became too cool. He soaped Cas’s hair, massaging his scalp and neck until Cas made a small, pleased sound.

“I’m not sure this will work,” Dean said softly, and they both knew he was talking about the ruse of courting. “I misspoke today.”

Cas reached up to grab his hand and squeeze it. “We’ll figure it out.”

Dean squeezed back, holding on tightly for a moment before letting go to finish washing his hair. When he had rinsed away the suds, he kissed the top of Cas’s head. “Out before you catch a chill.”

Castiel was made for wood-paneled libraries and soaring cathedrals. Yet here he was on the edge of the wide, lonely prairie with only the barest of comforts. His gentle, ink-stained hands had become worn and calloused and rough, sometimes they cracked and bled. But he never complained or resented Dean for bringing him here. Instead he reached for him each night, holding him close like he was the answer to his prayers. It was all so selfish, what they’d done. Selfish and reckless and foolhardy and Dean would do it again in an instant, even knowing Cas had given up everything he’d held holy for Dean.

*

Dean and Cas were both home a few days later when Charles Ingalls again stopped by. Dean let him in, stepping back to let him pass through the doorway.

“What can we do for you, sir? More of my famous coffee?” Dean tried to lighten the mood, but Ingalls didn’t smile.

Ingalls nodded at Cas, who warily kept his seat at the table. “Got plans for any more buggy rides?” he asked, as he wandered toward the same book shelf that had caught his eye last time.

Dean exchanged a cautious look with Cas. “If the weather holds.”

Passing by the books, Ingalls came to a stop outside of the second bedroom and stood with his back to them. “I don’t want any trouble here,” he said, his voice quiet but solemn.

“Sir?” Dean asked, even as his heart beat double time in his chest.

Ingalls turned to face them. “This door opens out,” he observed. Cas looked down at the table, his jaw working. “Same cobwebs in that corner as the last time I was here. Those would be gone if anybody were using that room.”

Dean knew when he was beat. “You here to throw us out of town?”

“Like I said, I don’t want any trouble. I’ve kept my suspicion to myself but I won’t have my daughter mixed up in this.”

“Of course not,” Dean agreed. As bad as this was, he felt a hint of relief at ending the deception. He’d genuinely enjoyed Laura’s company and didn’t wish any harm to come to her on his account.

“I’ll tell people you had family to tend to back East, if you like.”

Cas got to his feet. His voice was low and subdued. “That’s very kind of you. Now, if you would excuse us, it appears we have some packing to do.”

By the time Cas closed the door, Dean was already methodically pulling their few dishes from the shelf above the stove. Cas crossed the room to him and put a hand on his shoulder, but Dean didn’t stop until Cas moved to stand in front of him. Dean let his arms fall loosely by his side.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I thought I could do it.” Cas looked at him with that steady blue gaze, eyes so much kinder than Dean deserved. It felt like they were right back where they’d started, sneaking to the train station with no other thought than _away_. Dean swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry this is your life now.”

“ _Our_ life,” Cas corrected. He lay his hand on Dean’s cheek and smiled at him. Dean felt something inside himself calm at Cas’s gentle touch. “I’ve always wanted to see Oregon.”

Tomorrow they would pack the buggy with whatever they couldn’t leave behind. The horses would pull them west, trying to outpace the sun. If the road got too rough, Dean would trade the buggy for a wagon then trade that wagon for an oxcart or whatever would keep them going. They’d go until they ran out of road and when they stopped it would be together.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my early readers: Chandra, Kai, Lythea and Alison! Your feedback was both welcomed and appreciated.
> 
> Big thanks to Muse and JoJo for running this fantastic challenge which allowed me to write the Laura Ingalls au I've always wanted to write but was too intimidated to attempt. The 5k word count was exactly what I needed. 
> 
> Shout out to the tropefest dm for keeping me going and always making me laugh!
> 
> Title comes from [Marta Keen's Homeward Bound](https://www.musixmatch.com/lyrics/Marta-Keen/Homeward-Bound)


End file.
